


To Escape Inside

by Dogsled



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Breeding, Dom/sub Undertones, Dystopia, Forced Pregnancy, Impregnation, M/M, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rape/Non-con Elements, References to The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood, Sexual Slavery, True Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 07:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14950424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dogsled/pseuds/Dogsled
Summary: A Destiel Handmaid's Tale AU. Please look at the tags before reading! I've added tags which allude to things that happen in this dystopia and may not be actually happening to the main characters in the fic, just to ensure that everyone's comfort levels are taken account of. This is a very dark A/B/O dystopia! Consider this fair warning, it is not for the faint of heart!-----Dean Winchester was once of the best damn supernatural hunters in the world. He's also an Omega, and while the typical gender roles of society used to have him frustrated at the best of times, at least he was free; at least his choices were his own. Now the Seraphim have taken over things have changed drastically. Alphas command households and captured Omega are forcefully impregnated by their Seraphim Alphas. Dean didn't make it across the border with his brother. He's haunted by his near escape. Still, the coming of the Seraphim doesn't seem to be a case at all. Humans are just that crazy.Or so he thought.When Dean joins Castiel's household, things only spiral more out of control. Somehow as the Jacaranda blossoms fall in the garden, Dean falls against his better judgement for his new Alpha.





	To Escape Inside

**Author's Note:**

> If you feel there are some tags that ought to be added to this let me know. It was written for the SPN Dystopia Bang 2018, betaed by the awesome Harissa and WONDERFUL art by lotrspnfangirl! Check it out here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14940497

 

 

 

The only rule that really mattered at the end of the day was the one Dean struggled the most with: Don’t break the rules. It was in his nature, a troublemaker, a rebel; he always had been. As a hunter he had been unique, an anomaly, a legend who struck a blaze through his community. He was the whispered “Dean Winchester” who had saved the world before he was even thirty years old, made demons quiver at the sound of his name; the man so fierce that he had clawed his way out of the pit hand over hand and killed a Prince of Hell without breaking a sweat.

 

Despite being just an omega, the rumors said.

 

Dean hated that phrase. Despite? What was that supposed to mean? He wasn’t _just_ an omega. He wasn’t _just_ anything. He hadn’t achieved those things _despite_ his presentation. He was more than ready to make other hunters understand how disgusting that statement was, as though he had simply been _born less_.

 

Born less. God, they had no idea. It seemed to Dean that the whole damn future was in the hands of people who were _born less_ now.

 

Dean took a slow, careful breath, and shifted surreptitiously along the leather bench, tugging at the edge of the thick curtain that covered his car window and, taking another look up at the building on the hill. It was a preppy looking house, the garden kept and manicured, the kind that you expected to see celebrities living in. The gate was activated with the Driver’s remote control, and though Dean longed to keep staring out the window, he knew better than to be seen peeking, retreating back into his seat.

 

It was against the rules, after all.

 

_Fucking rules._

 

Preppy house, he reminded himself, trying to picture it in his mind’s eye against the back of the Driver’s seat. They crunched up the gravel as he focused his thoughts inward, using hunter’s intuition to dress the images in his mind. The windows had all been covered with blinds, and the shutters - only there to look pretty, Dean guessed - were thrown wide open and painted in navy blue against the whitewashed walls. What was visible of the rooms beyond had been painted in pastel shades.

 

The garden was clearly someone’s pride and joy. There were blossoms in the trees, spring flowers subsiding to the brighter flush of summer growth. Everything was beautifully alive, which was ironic, considering. There had been something weird in the corner of the garden, though, tucked in behind a spattering of tulips. Now what the hell had that been? No matter how hard he focused, Dean couldn’t quite recall it enough to identify it. It was too late to take another look now. The car was slowing, easing into the embrace of darkness.

 

Dean could hear the whir of the garage door mechanism. It stood out clearly as the Driver cut the engine, and he shifted uncomfortably in his too plush seat, digging at the edges of his gown in frustration. It was a habit that had gotten him into trouble before, but he just couldn’t stop himself, especially at times like this when his anxiety was eating him alive.

 

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want any of this.

 

Which was, to be fair, how he’d ended up sent to reprogramming _last time_ , and nothing on God’s green earth made him want to go through that experience again. Shivering at the memory, Dean pulled on a loose thread and watched it break away from the weave, opening it to more destruction. As it came away, just the slightest amount of tension in his chest released with it. The world wasn’t perfect, it was frayed, just like his robe. It could be unpicked.

 

And he wasn’t going to break his new Alpha’s jaw, was he? No.

 

Okay, he might. If it was worth it.

 

Even despite the months of bullshit he’d been through, it _had_ been worth it last time. The Aunts had told him, to his smug amusement, that his previous Alpha had spent most of those same months eating through a straw, and it had taken away some of the sting of humiliation and debasement he’d suffered in the meantime.

 

Knowing it was going to happen didn’t stop Dean from startling when the door opened. He spent so much time in his own head recently that the involvement of the outside world actually caught him by surprise now and again.

 

“Come on, then, Jacaranda.”

 

“It’s Blackthorn,” Dean answered, turning his head to look at the Driver. He was new, and looked too damn young for the job.

 

“Not any more. You belong to Castiel now. He chose your new name.”

 

Castiel. So that was his new Alpha’s name. His previous Alpha had been called Michael--what a prick. Dean had hated the guy the moment they’d set eyes on each other. It had all come to a head during his first heat in the household, and needless to say, Michael had gotten exactly what he deserved.

 

“Jacaranda, huh. Do they shorten that to Randy?”

 

Dean twitched his lips at his own joke, and watched as the Driver flushed, trying to hide his own smile.

 

“What’s your name?” Dean asked.

 

“Samandriel.”

 

Dean swallowed. His mind automatically went to Sam. Sam… His stomach flipped over at the memory of their attempted escape, the rush to the border. His tongue felt heavy as he pushed on, trying to grip the easy teasing he’d had a hold of only moments before. “Well, Mandy. Not for nothing, but I think the two of us are gonna get on just fine.”

 

When Samandriel had moved aside, Dean dragged himself out, scowling at the gown. It was designed to make it difficult to run. Oh, well, and other things. Easy access, he supposed. Dean put his sandaled feet down on the ground, then clambered out of the car, reluctantly taking Samandriel’s hand when it was offered to help him up.

 

“Thanks.”

 

Dean looked around the garage. It was huge, and mostly empty. Not that surprising, really. Only important Alphas were given Omegas--they called themselves ‘The Seraphim’; the new ruling class. Crazy cultists they were, going round thinking they were God’s chosen. But everyone else served them, did their laundry, washed their cars, brought them food...had their kids.

 

They were called Nephilim--those children born after the Seraphim had taken over. Dean had seen them, dozens of leather clad guards in riot gear walking alongside them. They were the future, and nobody was under any illusions about their value. Even Dean had to admit the Seraphim had a point, he was more than aware how few Omega seemed to be having kids these days--hell, how few even went into heat.

 

 _That_ was why he was here.

 

Samandriel stepped up to and opened the inside door, leading the way. Dean followed, and when the door opened he head upstairs with Samandriel behind him, each step taking just as much effort as it had for Dean to drag himself out of Hell. He stepped out into the bright spring light that flooded the kitchen, hesitating there. A redhaired Martha was scrubbing potatoes in the sink, and she smiled at Dean when he glanced over at her. Dean smiled back. As sucky as this situation was, he hadn’t lost his ability to smile, to joke. He wouldn’t let them take that from him.

 

Dean followed Samandriel through the kitchen, through a conservatory with an enormous lemon tree growing in the center of it, then up several steps into an enormous salon. Castiel stood beside his wife, waiting for them, his blue eyes following Dean almost instantly. He scrutiny was disturbing, and Dean dropped his own gaze quickly. Looking straight into his Alpha’s eyes was against the rules--rules he was already breaking.

 

He just wanted to look at the man who was supposed to fuck him. Impregnate him. Was that too much to ask?

 

Dean was supposed to offer a greeting, but Castiel’s wife beat him to it. It was immediately obvious just how angry she was by the tone of her voice, and Dean flinched. “A male omega?”

 

Castiel made a sound in the back of his throat. “Does it matter? Gender is hardly our primary concern, only viability.”

 

“I still thought…”

 

Castiel cut her off. “Hannah. I won’t have this conversation again. You should know this by now.”

 

Dean didn’t dare look up. Hannah seemed like she had issues, and he didn’t know if he wanted to get involved in any of it. If their marriage had problems, it was better just to let them tear themselves apart. He hadn’t gotten a good look at her, though, couldn’t even recollect what colour her hair was. He’d just been so distracted by Castiel’s eyes…

 

Great. Just what he needed. To think his creepy, God loving, angel rapist overlord was _pretty._ Maybe in another life it would have mattered. Dean had found men attractive before, even slept with a few, but things were different now. He had his pride, and by definition Castiel was a monster. The whole damn lot of them were worse than any monster he’d ever beheaded or stabbed or set on fire.

 

Dean scowled at his feet, forgetting to keep his features blank. A moment later Hannah was grabbing his chin and twisting his face up, and his eyes widened in surprise. She was beautiful too; blue eyed, almost as gorgeous as her husband. But she looked _pretty_ mad, too.

 

“Did you have something to say?”

 

“No, ma’am,” Dean answered, respectfully. He waited until she let him go to lower his head again.

 

“Dorothy,” Castiel said. “Would you please show Jacaranda to his room?”

 

Dean didn’t get a look at Dorothy until they were well out of sight of Castiel and his wife. She had dark brown hair, but it looked slightly russet in the light which shone down the creaky, narrow stairs from to the attic bedroom. She didn’t smile, or even look back at him. When Dean stepped into the bedroom, though, he forgot all about how snubbed she made him feel.

 

The jacaranda tree in the yard was in full bloom, and the top of its purple blossoms made a carpet of flowers beyond the upstairs window. The sun shone through the blossoms, casting patterns of light on the floor, and the buzz of insects from their busy plight in the tree canopy was almost instantly all that Dean could hear.

 

Which was because he was holding his breath.

 

“Now you know why all Castiel’s Omegas are called Jacaranda,” Dorothy said, to the side of Dean’s head. By the time he turned back toward her, though, she was gone.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, heading to the top of the stairs in an effort to catch her. “What do you mean ‘ _all_ Castiel’s--’... Fuck. Nevermind.”

 

 

 

The jacaranda bloomed for three more days. The third day was market day, and Dean dressed himself and head down to the gate, feeling enormous trepidation. There was a light breeze, which Dean hated because it made his ankles cold, and blew up the inside of his robe. Since he was wearing nothing underneath, just the slightest breeze was enough to tickle, and Dean hated it. He wanted his jeans back. He wanted to run again, fight, kill vampires--whatever. He _hated_ feeling like this; hated feeling _vulnerable._

 

At the gate another Omega was waiting for him, his thin, dark hair plastered against his brow, warm eyes watching him as he made his way down the path.

 

Dean held his gaze. The stranger was his equal, and Dean could look him in the eye. As he stepped through the gate, he offered the rote greeting, “Blessed be.”

 

“Under his eye, brother,” said the stranger, in a smooth southern drawl.

 

“Nice accent,” Dean answered.

 

The stranger looked him over suspiciously, then shrugged.

 

Breaking the rules again, Dean remembered. They weren’t meant to talk about their past lives. Dean wasn’t even supposed to ask the guy’s name, in case he was an informant for the Eye, the not so secret spy network the Seraphim employed.

 

Dean lowered his gaze again, falling into step beside the stranger.

 

“Jacaranda, isn’t it?”

 

Dean shrugged one shoulder. “Guess so.”

 

“I’m Violet.”

 

Dean burst out laughing. He shoved his sleeve into his mouth as quickly as he could, but it was already too late. One of the soldiers escorting them to the market - they were called Angels, and worked directly for the Eye - stepped in front of them, stopping them in their tracks.

 

“Is there a problem here?” the Angel asked.

 

Violet looked across at Dean, then shook his head. “Jacaranda’s just feeling hormonal, Zachariah. He’s about to come into heat.”

 

Dean lowered his hand, suddenly sobering. Into heat? _Already?_

 

The Angel stepped in closer. He was one of the higher ranking officers, his gray hair almost entirely thinned away, his eyes watery and cruel. He leaned right into Dean’s space and sniffed him, and Dean shuddered in revulsion, barely able to stop himself. He’d been sniffed by Alphas like that his entire life, but it had always been his right to refuse sex--if he wanted to. Now he just felt like a piece of meat.

 

“So he is,” the man replied. “Well, well. Michael will be pleased.”

 

“Michael?” Dean asked, surprised, forgetting himself again. It wasn’t just hormones, he was good at breaking rules, but damn it, if he was going to get away with mouthing off just once since this shitstorm started, he may as well go for it.

 

“He was your Alpha before, wasn’t he? The Archangel Michael.”

 

Dean shook his head. “Archangel… I didn’t realize he was so important.”

 

“And now you’ve been given to Castiel. Talk about falling from grace.”

 

Dean stared. He couldn’t believe it. He was still staring right into the Angel’s ferrety little eyes when out of nowhere Zachariah swung his arm and belted him in the face with the back of his hand. It was so hard a strike that Dean staggered off the curve. Violet caught the edge of his robe before he could fall into the road entirely, but Dean still caught a handful of gravel as he fell, his legs tangling in the stupid robe and his weight landing on his open palms.

 

A hunter. He’d been a hunter. And now he was eating dirt in a fucking _dress._

 

“Get up,” Zachariah barked. Dean got back up, keeping his eyes on the ground. Like he should have the first time. The Angel took hold of his chin, his hand like a vice, and Dean managed to resist the urge to punch him back. Eight months ago he would have done just that.

 

“Good boy,” Zachariah announced at last, giving him a slight push as he shoved Dean back into Violet. The other Omega caught his shoulders, holding firmly.

 

“Make sure he gets to the market and back, Violet.”

 

“We should really get him some ice for his face,” Violet began.

 

“No. He’s only Castiel’s bitch. Don’t matter what he looks like, now, does it? Just as long as he gets knocked up.”

 

Dean really, really wanted to punch him. Violet’s hands, though, were incredibly strong against his arms. The guy was holding him back, and Dean felt an instant rush of gratitude toward him.

 

“Yessir,” Violet was saying, for both of them. “Thank you, sir.”

 

As Zachariah broke away, Violet set Dean back on his feet. By the time they reached the market, he’d told him his name, as well. Benny.

 

And Dean was wearing one hell of a bruise.

  


 

 

The wind was much stronger by the time he got home.

 

What he really didn’t expect, not even a little bit, was the way that Charlie looked at him when he got back to the house. Without the advantage of a mirror, Dean hadn’t known how bad the bruise was, but the way Charlie - the redheaded Martha who worked in the kitchen - clasped her hands to her mouth in surprise, was honestly frightening. She went straight for the freezer, her eyes wide with concern.

 

Dean waved his hand. “Don’t bother. It’s too late now.”

 

“Don’t be stupid. It’ll take some of the swelling down.” Charlie scowled. “What even happened?”

 

“I fell over my feet,” Dean said. “Stupid dress.”

 

“You didn’t fall over,” Charlie said, shrewdly.

 

Dean showed her his scratched up hands. “Trust me, I fell over. If anyone asks, I fell. Please.”

 

Charlie looked at him intently, and Dean tried to appear as pathetically pleading as he could. The last thing he wanted was to somehow find himself sent somewhere _worse_ than ‘the least respected person Michael could think of.’

 

Wrapping an ice pack in cloth, Charlie handed it out toward him. Dean took it wordlessly, pressing it to his cheek with his least painful hand. Charlie left, returning with a first aid kit, and sat down in front of him.

 

“Hand,” she said, and Dean held out his other hand. She began to patch it up, cleaning the grit out of the wounds and then dabbing antiseptic into the scratches.

 

“Baby!” she accused, when Dean hissed in dismay.

 

“Someone call me?”

 

Dean and Charlie both looked up, but while Charlie looked at Dorothy, who had just appeared in the doorway, Dean looked at Charlie instead, catching the instant blush. For a moment Charlie was almost as red as her hair, and Dean had to hide his grin.

 

“What happened to him?” Dorothy asked, heading over to the basin to fill her bucket.

 

“Fell,” he and Charlie said in unison.

 

“Sure,” answered Dorothy, with barely any interest.

 

Dean met Charlie’s eyes while the water roared. He flashed her a smirk, and in return Charlie jabbed a scratch on his palm with her cue tip, making wide, desperate eyes at him.

 

“Ow!”

 

“Oh, you’re such a big baby,” Charlie accused. “Honestly.”

 

Dean couldn’t keep himself from smiling, though, and when Dorothy turned back around and caught him smiling right into Charlie’s face, all she did was scowl and storm away with her bucket.

 

“Now look what you’ve done,” Charlie complained.

 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

 

Charlie rolled her eyes at him. “Yeah. I believe you.” And she did.

 

Dean sat quiet for a little while longer, squirming only the slightest bit as Charlie kept rubbing antiseptic into first one hand and then the other. At last she was done, though, and Dean had run out of time. He sighed.

 

“I’m going to need you to draw me up a bath.”

 

“What?”

 

Dean raised his shoulders higher, wishing he could hide between them. “You’re a Beta, right? So you can’t smell it. I… I’m coming onto heat. I wish--”

 

“Blessed be,” Charlie said, cutting him off, her expression stern.

 

Dean felt his instinct respond to the sharpness of her tone, and he nodded. “Yes, blessed be.”

 

And sure enough, from the door behind him, the one that led up to the study, came Hannah’s clear as a bell voice: “Blessed be.”

 

She sounded as tense as Dean did.

 

 

 

The bath was the only good part of this whole insanity.

 

Dean let himself sink into it, sighing as the hot water embraced him. Jacaranda blossoms, blown down by the wind outside, had been added to the water for fragrance, and they bobbed around, floating on the surface. They were on their last legs, creased and broken and on the edge of rotten, but still beautifully vibrant.

 

Jacaranda. That was his name now. He wondered if this was just part of the ritual somehow, or something Castiel specifically had asked for.

 

Dean closed his eyes and sank underneath the surface, feeling miserable as his wounded face stung and ached, a throbbing agony. He let the misery soak into him, knowing full well that it was the hormones having their way with his emotions. Over the years, he’d become wise to what his body would do to him when he went into heat, had needed to get a hold on it in order to do his job. It didn’t make it fun to resist the feelings, though; didn’t make it _easy_.

 

So if just for a moment he considered the idea of breathing in the water…

 

No. He couldn’t do it even if he wanted to, his will to survive was just too strong. There was more to it though. Sam was out there, Sam had gotten away, and Dean had to find him. As an older brother, that was what he _had_ to do; his one prerogative.

 

He pushed back out of the water. Jacaranda blossoms stuck to his cheeks, one of them folded over his eye, and he had to rub it off with the back of his fist.

 

Clean. This was his opportunity to get clean, to groom himself, to shave _himself_ , rather than having a stranger do it for him. But all he could think of, despite the unique pleasure, was what would happen to him this evening, where he would be in just a few hours time, and how much he wanted nothing less than to grab a blade from the kitchen and just _run_ , even knowing that he wouldn’t get further than the end of the block.

 

It wasn’t fair.

 

This world wasn’t fair any more.

 

 

 

It would be nice just to disappear.

 

Dean pushed open the door, keeping his eyes down as he stepped into the salon. Everyone was waiting for the Seraphim already, the entire damn household. Even Samandriel was there. Dorothy and Charlie stood next to each other, and another man - Dean assumed he was the gardener, there was grit under his fingernails and his hair was graying and slightly too long - stood beside them.

 

Samandriel shuffled uncomfortably as Dean stepped in. The gardener looked bored.

 

“How long do we have to be here?” he growled. “I got things to do.”

 

Charlie scowled. “Your bees are asleep already, Cain.”

 

“ _Castiel’s_ bees,” Cain complained. “This is a waste of my time.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean scowled, “well you’re not the one getting fucked, are you?”

 

His comments silenced everyone. Cain looked him right in the eyes, and Dean held his gaze until the man barked a laugh. “Well, well. I see they didn’t make your reputation up one bit.”

 

“His reputation?” Dorothy asked.

 

“Slugger here punched the Archangel Michael in the jaw.”

 

Charlie’s jaw fell. “He did _what?_ ”

 

“I didn’t know he was an _Archangel_ ,” Dean sighed.

 

At a sound from the hallway, everyone fell back into position. Dean kept his eyes on the floor, feeling a fresh wave of misery. His heat really _must_ be starting. He felt lousy. Then again, he’d have felt this awful irregardless. This wasn’t the life he wanted to be living. On a night like this he might have been drinking beer with his brother, hanging out at some bar or another as they talked over the facts of a case. They might have been hustling pool, or laying low from demons in some shady hotel room.

 

Now Sam was gone, and Dean was alone. Dean was facing _this_ alone.

 

“Jacaranda.”

 

The low growl of Castiel’s voice. Dean hadn’t heard it since the first day, hadn’t even _seen_ him. He supposed Castiel must be busy doing whatever it was Seraphim Alphas did.

 

Dean turned to face the sound of his voice, refusing to look up despite the temptation. What he really wanted to do was seek out Castiel’s beautiful blue eyes. The heat was rising up in him, demanding his attention, the scent of Alpha stronger than anything he’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t normal. He’d never felt this way about an Alpha in his life, and yet there it was, a need climbing to the surface, digging its talons into his throat from the inside. He swallowed hard.

 

What was happening to him?

 

“Blessed be the fruit,” said Hannah.

 

Dean was barely listening, but he knew to answer, did it automatically: “Under his eye.”

 

And then he was being led forward, Hannah’s small hand curled around his own. The hallways of the house seemed to blur around him. He wasn’t sure quite which directions he was led in, or even which room was Castiel’s, but suddenly he found himself in a grand bedroom, and Hannah was letting him go, leaving him to wobble in the middle of the room.

 

The smell was even stronger in here. It brought Dean crashing to his knees.

 

“Jacaranda--”

 

Castiel again. Dean lifted his head up. Their gazes met, and he was lost. The blue eyes seemed to go on forever, but there was concern in them. A moment later Castiel was touching his face, and that one touch sent sparks of electricity jumping between them. Dean panted, his cock twitching to life between his thighs. He was already leaking, could feel his own slick hot and sticky underneath his scarlet gown.

 

“Talk to me,” Castiel was saying.

 

“This isn’t how this is supposed to be done,” Hannah admonished. Dean could barely hear her now, it was like his whole mind was focused on Castiel and Castiel alone.

 

“Be quiet,” Castiel growled. “We will do this properly, but not before I’m certain he’s well enough to perform the ceremony.”

 

Dean immediately wanted, more than anything, to be well enough. It was against his better judgement, against his hunter instinct, but there was nothing he could possibly do about how needy he felt. He reached out, curling his hand around Castiel’s knee where the Seraphim was crouching in front of him.

 

“I need you,” he breathed.

 

“This isn’t right,” Hannah whispered. No, she wasn’t whispering.

 

“You’re right,” Castiel answered. “He’s clearly unwell. Perhaps when he fell earlier... ”

 

Dean struggled to try and get a grip on Castiel, tried to pull himself toward him, but the man stepped away from him, and Dean fell onto the floor instead, groaning.

 

“I’ll get someone,” Castiel said. Dean whimpered as his footsteps, his scent, went away, and began to rub himself on the rough carpet. This whole room smelled of Castiel. Why couldn’t he stay here? Why couldn’t Castiel just _fuck him_? Wasn’t that what these damn people did? Why get so precious all of a sudden?

 

It took several minutes. In the meantime, Dean made himself very familiar with every inch of Castiel’s rug, rubbing his cock against his own thigh with his palm and absolutely failing to get any kind of pleasure out of it. It wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what he _needed_.

 

The oddness of this whole thing escaped him. In his right mind he might have questioned the drugged mist that crashed down on him, but he was in too deep, pulled down into the undertow of arousal and sensation, oblivious to everything but his own pitiful need, oblivious even to the keening noises that were bleating from his own parted lips.

 

Strong arms, at last, wrapped around him, but they weren’t Castiel’s arms, they were Cain’s. The man lifted him off the ground despite Dean’s protests, throwing him over his shoulder so that Dean’s vision swam as his head swung toward Cain’s back. He twisted in his arms in an effort to fight for freedom and only barely managed to catch a glimpse of Castiel as he was carried away. There was concern in the Alpha’s expression, the way his hands were wrung into tight fists in the pockets of his coat, and the bulge of his erection--so close, and yet so far.

 

 

 

It was one of the worst nights of his life. Dean didn’t sleep until almost morning, and even then only for a few minutes at a time. He kicked all his bedsheets off, sweating, sticky with need that soaked all the way through his mattress in no time at all. All he saw when he closed his eyes was Castiel. All he could feel was Castiel’s touch, sending fire rolling through his veins. All he could smell, on himself, on the bed, was Castiel and sex, and he craved it more than he’d wanted anything in his life.

 

God, he wanted Castiel to fuck him more than he wanted to find _Sam_. More than he wanted to escape.

 

It was lunchtime the next day before that thought, finally, began to sober him up. As comprehension returned, Dean tucked himself right into the corner where his bed met the wall, sweat and slick rapidly cooling and drying on his skin, and began to shiver.

 

His heat had _never_ been like this. It was humiliating, and now he could truly come to terms with everything that had happened the night before, Dean felt helpless, terrified.

 

Tonight, he knew, he would be taken back to the bedroom. Would it happen again? Would it be worse, when the full pull of his heat was upon him?

 

At some point, as he sat there shivering, his body finally warmed enough to overcome his own chill. His head hurt, and the bright sunlight shining through the jacaranda tree was too much to bear. Aching, Dean pulled himself off his bed and crawled to the bathroom, clambering into his empty bathtub in the dark.

 

He drifted, dozed, and stirred only when a knock came at his door.

 

“Jacaranda,” said Charlie’s voice. “You have a visitor.”

 

Dean had no idea where he was. His whole body was sore, he felt like he’d been fighting off werewolves, and the dreamless ceramic bathtub sleep had done nothing for his headache either.

 

“Jacaranda?” Charlie asked again, knocking louder.

 

Then, “Dean? Are you there, brother?”

 

Dean was finally conscious, struggling to pull his body up out of the bathtub when he heard his door open. Then Benny strode into his room, his concern - and sense of smell - leading him straight to the bathroom.

 

“Hey,” Dean said, awkwardly.

 

“Hey cher. You look like steamrolled alligator shit.”

 

“Well that’s...great imagery, Benny, thanks.”

 

“Smell like it too.” Dean gave him a look, and the other Omega shrugged. “I say it like it is.”

 

When Dean started to try to pull himself out of the tub, Benny reached for his shoulder, pushing him back down into it. Dean was concerned about how easily he fell right back on his ass.

 

“What?”

 

“You’ve got to have a bath. Might as well stay right where you are.”

 

Dean felt defeated, and he gave a pathetic shrug, shoulders slumping. “I don’t want to. I feel like crap.”

 

Still, what could he do when Benny reached to turn on the water, tugging at Dean’s robe to pull it over his head.

 

“Of course you do,” Benny murmured, once Dean was naked. “You met your true mate and he turned you down.”

 

Dean shook his head. “True mate? That’s bullshit. Disney movie bullshit. That doesn’t happen in real life.”

 

Benny stared so hard at him that Dean knew he’d said the wrong thing. He withered under the look, sinking even further down in the tub.

 

“I met my true mate,” Benny said, when he was sure Dean wasn’t going to just talk right over him. “She meant everything to me.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“We’re not supposed to talk about the past.”

 

“Not supposed to use real names either,” Dean pointed out. "Come on, please? What happened to her?”

 

“We got separated when all this started.”

 

Dean stared at Benny. He was remembering the despair last night, fractured memories coming back to him. He’d thrown himself against the walls, shaken the locked door, kicked it, clawed it in fury. He looked down at his hands, his broken nails, then looked back up at Benny again. All he’d wanted was Castiel. It was inexplicable, and even now, just thinking of the man’s name, that same ache was coming back to him.

 

“How do you…? How can you stand it?”

 

“I tell myself she’s dead.”

 

“That’s not going to help me,” Dean muttered.

 

“No, it’s not. And it’s going to be harder. If you’re true mates with Castiel, then mating with him will only strengthen that bond. When you…”

 

Benny fell quiet, and Dean felt his stomach flop over. “When he impregnates me it’s going to fuck me up completely. That’s what you’re saying. And then they’re gonna take me away and put me with someone else, right?”

 

“You’re going to wish you were dead.”

 

Charlie had been silent at the door throughout the exchange, and Dean looked up at her, frowning. She turned to look back at him when he called to her.

 

“What do you think?” he asked.

 

“Maybe if we...if we sabotaged you. They could re-educate you, put you with another Seraphim...”

 

“They’re not going to put me with another Seraphim,” Dean answered. “I pissed off the big guy, right? This is my punishment. If I screw this up too they’re just gonna… I don’t know. Turn me into a fucking zombie and hook me up to IVs so I can spit out kids without bothering anybody. Who knows where they take Omegas when they aren’t fit for polite society, but I’m betting it’s something like that. A baby factory.”

 

“You don’t know that,” Charlie said, wide eyed and obviously frightened.

 

Dean shook his head. “I know enough. I’ve seen enough.”

 

The water was up over his hips now, and Benny reached to turn it off.

 

A little more than half an hour later, Dean was being toweled off, fresh as a daisy again. He stared bleakly out at the jacaranda tree. The wind had blown off most of the blossoms. Only a tenuous few clung to the branches.

 

Dean looked through them, his gaze drifting down into the garden. There, by the fence, were the strange shapes he’d seen from the car, shapes he’d identified finally as beehives. As he stared down into the yard, Castiel appeared, following Cain toward them. Without donning protective gear, Cain lifted the metal lid off one of the hives, then carefully removed the breathable layers which covered the frames. He withdrew a single frame, slowly, and Castiel moved closer, his back blocking the hive.

 

“Just...don’t think about it, brother,” came Benny’s voice, from somewhere inside the room with him. Dean found he wasn’t paying attention. His mind was down in the garden with the Seraphim, with his Alpha, his true mate. “What can you do? This world happens to us, now, not the other way around.”

 

But there had once been a time when it had been the other way around, hadn’t there?

 

 

 

Sam looked across at Dean from the passenger seat. His brother was worried, Dean knew, but he was playing it off, pretending to be stronger than he was because he knew it was what Dean needed.

 

To tell the truth, though, this entire situation terrified him.

 

They were taking Omegas. _Taking them_. They called themself The Seraphim, members of government who had mysteriously survived the systematic and sudden murder of all of America’s leaders. Coming together, they’d made a series of new laws, claiming it was for the purpose of better protecting the population. Everywhere Dean and Sam went, now, they had to provide cards with blood stamps on them, identifying them, announcing their presentation. One day Dean had woken up and he was a second class citizen, his brother responsible for everything he did.

 

They investigated it like it was a case. They’d even caught hints that it might _be_ one, people talking about how their loved ones had just left one day and gone to join a cult. But at the end of the day both he and Sam were pretty convinced that this wasn’t anything supernatural, it was humans. Humans were, after all, by far the worst thing he and Sam had ever come across. Demons he could understand, but people were crazy.

 

And even if they’d managed to save the world, he and Sam couldn’t turn this one around. They were running--they were fucking _running_ with their tails between their legs, racing for the border like the devil himself was chasing them.

 

“It’s not far now,” Sam said.

 

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Every mile marker they passed toward the border filled Dean with even more apprehension. It seemed like it was too easy, like Angels might sweep down on them at any moment and cut their flight short. Sam clearly felt the same way because he fidgeted on the bench beside him.

 

“I don’t like it.”

 

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

 

Sam made a sad little attempt at a laugh, and Dean shook his head, slamming his palms against the steering wheel.

 

“I love you,” he said. “Like a brother, you know. I love you, Sammy. No matter what happens.”

 

There was silence, the mile markers going past far too quickly, then Sam said. “I said tell me something I _don’t_ know.”

 

“You aren’t going to say it back?”

 

“I don’t have to say it back,” Sam said. “We’re getting out of here. Together.”

 

But they weren’t. Of course they weren’t.

 

Dean barely stopped the Impala in time when, rounding a corner, they almost slid sidewards right into the roadblock. He slammed Baby into reverse, and felt horror swirl through him as she bumped noisily over a Stinger. He put his foot down anyway, sent the car flying back up the road, making sure that when he did lose control, he did so as smoothly as possible. Baby skidded into a ditch, and he and Sam were out in a second.

 

“Just run,” Dean yelled, heading for the woods. “Run, Sammy.”

 

They ran.

 

One moment he was looking at Sam’s back, and the next he was on his face in the dirt, and someone was kneeling on his back, saying into the radio “Call ‘em off. We got what we came for.”

 

He never saw his brother again.

 

 

 

Dean tried to keep his legs steady as he made his way down the stairs. Charlie was descending just ahead of him, and he didn’t want to fall on her, but it didn’t make it any easier.

 

Dean did his best to breathe through his nose despite the constriction in his chest, the scent of peppermint overpowering. Charlie had proposed the solution while Benny was bathing him, and returned - as well as with a late lunch to try and settle his stomach - with a pestle and mortar and a pile of fresh mint leaves from the garden. Now his entire room smelled like mint, but Dean didn’t care--better mint than the smell of shame, slick and humiliation from before.

 

The mint might take the edge off Castiel’s scent, Charlie explained, as she ground the leaves furiously. She’d soaked a tiny piece of fabric with the mint and had Dean place it on his tongue, then she’d used a finger to rub the mint round the outside of his nostrils. If Dean had been in a daze before, the smell woke him all the way up, sharp and unavoidable like a shot to the head.

 

If it worked, he didn’t care. Desperately, Dean just wanted to get through this. The idea of going back to bed and experiencing another night like the previous one filled him with dread. What if Castiel rejected him again?

 

Sure. _What if_ Castiel rejected him again? This wasn’t what he wanted. Even if his biology was telling him otherwise, this wasn’t what he wanted to be happening to him. He wouldn’t have chosen Castiel, wouldn’t have ever met him, and this religious sacrifice preserving the species crap was of no interest to Dean. All he wanted was his freedom and his old life back. He wanted to see his brother again.

 

And yeah, maybe he wanted kids one day, but _like this_? Nobody wanted this.

 

He hesitated before stepping off the last step. Samandriel, Cain and Dorothy were already waiting. He turned to face Benny.

 

“Thanks...Violet.”

 

“Good luck, Jacaranda.”

 

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he nodded, glancing away. Samandriel stepped forward to touch his elbow, prompting him to move. “Come along, Violet. Time to go.”

 

Dean followed the others back to the salon, and they waited for Castiel and Hannah. This time, Dean recognized Castiel’s footfalls in the hallway. He sucked in another minty breath before the door opened, then held it, forgetting Benny’s advice to make small, shallow breaths. As a result, by the time Castiel was standing in front of him, Dean needed a lungful of air, and even the smell of peppermint barely cut through Castiel’s scent.

 

It was a true effort to keep his eyes on Cas’ feet this time. Hannah shifted uncomfortably, and murmured the fractured greeting. At least, Dean thought she must have. He couldn’t hear her at all.

 

A moment later Charlie was giving him a gentle push, and Dean finally took the cue to follow, keeping to Castiel’s heels as he was led through the house. It may as well have been a labyrinth.

 

Eventually he stood on shaky, nervous legs in the bedroom. This time, he didn’t fall to his knees, and Castiel checked him over thoroughly before deciding, with the smallest sigh that sounded to Dean utterly defeated, that they could safely proceed.

 

Dean heard the sigh, heard every word, as though he were listening only to Castiel’s voice, like a radio in his head turned up all the way, each syllable clear and booming. Dean still hadn’t looked at him, didn’t know what would happen when he did. All of his senses, it seemed, were focused only on the Seraphim. Hannah, whom he was sure was somewhere in the room watching, just wasn’t of interest to him at all.

 

At the one word, “present”, Dean moved on autopilot. His legs thankfully carried him as far as the bed, and he climbed up into the center of it, kneeling upright. Above the headboard was a huge mirror, and Dean found himself staring at it in horror, watching as Castiel moved into sight underneath the canopy.

 

Their eyes met.

 

Dean flinched. If anything, Castiel looked as miserable as he did. While Michael had been proud, dismissive of Dean almost entirely, treating him like a… Well. To Michael, Dean had just been an animal, a necessary evil, a broodmare for his future progeny.

 

Castiel looked like this was the last thing in the world he wanted to be doing, and when their eyes met, that electric feeling resonated through Dean again. He felt like he could _understand_ Castiel’s reluctance, like there was more to it than he saw on the surface. Castiel didn’t want to be a part of Michael’s plan, and what he was being asked to do - ordered to do - disgusted him.

 

Even despite that, when they looked at each other, the scent of Castiel’s body - so close to his bed now - invaded through his failing peppermint protection, Dean only felt a fresh rush of longing, and with it his own slick, dripping thick down the back of his thighs. Dean tried to focus on the bed, on staying upright even when his body seemed to feel like it was being magnetically pulled back, his hips rocking in invitation. There was no stopping it now, no resisting the craving. He was aching with it, his own cock lifting eagerly toward his belly.

 

Castiel’s weight moved onto the bed, and Dean trembled in place, his senses straining for the first touch, for the smell of Castiel’s arousal, for...anything. God, he _needed_ to be fucked.

 

Tentative hands found the bottom of his robe, lifting it without touching his skin, as though Castiel had learned his lesson touching him the other day. The fabric was raised over his hips, exposing his ass, the air immediately cooling the slick on his thighs. The sensation made Dean groan. It was almost unbearable now, the scent of his own need drowning him, the peppermint forgotten. Why wasn’t Castiel touching him?

 

“Do it, Castiel,” Hannah said. Dean was sure he only heard her speaking because she said his name. He couldn’t help himself--he lifted his chin and looked up toward the mirror above the bed again. Castiel was kneeling on the edge of the bed staring at Dean’s ass, his hands balled into fists at his sides. He looked pale and conflicted. Dean bit his lip to keep from shouting at him. He was supposed to stay quiet. Technically speaking, even his groan had been too much noise; another Seraphim might have punished him for it.

 

Speaking of punishments…

 

Castiel’s hand touched the base of his spine, then pushed upward, lifting his robe higher, revealing the marks on his back. There were many of them--many scars for many transgressions. Dean had once been pretty awful about talking back. He wasn’t any more.

 

Dean didn’t dare look at Castiel as his hand moved across his back, tracing those scars, touching for far too long with his thumb and careful fingertips.

 

“Why did they do this?” Castiel asked.

 

Dean didn’t hear Hannah’s answer, nor did he care. Castiel was touching him, and it was almost...it was _almost_ what he wanted, and yet nowhere near enough, either.

 

“I’m sorry, Jacaranda.” It was a whisper, but Dean heard it as though Cas was pressing the words right into his brain with his fingertips.

 

All Castiel did, seemingly forever, was touch the scars on his back, running his fingers up and down. Dean soaked in the sensation, felt himself drifting, focusing entirely on the electric sensation of Castiel touching him, the way it seemed to buzz underneath his skin everywhere that the Seraphim’s fingers wandered. It was like falling into a trance, so that when Castiel did finally stop, Dean just trembled there, oblivious to the fact that Castiel’s hands were no longer soothing him.

 

Only the scent of arousal, finally, drew his focus back to what Castiel was doing behind him. Dean had been fucked before. He liked the smell of cock, of Alphas, but this was another thing entirely. The scent of Castiel was like water to a thirsty man, only there was so much water--so much! He was drowning in it, struggling to gasp for air and only breathing in more. He rocked his hips back, then whimpered, and at last Cas’ hands fell on him again, found his hips…

 

Castiel’s hands were shaking.

 

Dean wished he could reach for his hands, look into his eyes, comfort Castiel like Castiel was comforting him. He could feel Castiel’s hatred of this, his despair, his anxiety--and his need. He wanted this, Dean knew, wanted _him_ , but he didn’t like this situation any more than Dean did. Right?

 

Or was he projecting? Was he making excuses for this Alpha? This _monster?_

 

Dean groaned. If only Castiel would stop touching him, maybe he’d be able to think it through, work out how he really felt, and even do something about it.

 

One of Castiel’s hands lifted away from his hip. Dean knew what was coming, and yet he moaned out loud as Castiel guided the head of his cock into place. Dean felt himself leaking around it, his need increasingly aching. He knew what he wanted, and what he wanted was Castiel inside him. He rocked his hips backward, but Castiel only moved with him, refusing to penetrate any further.

 

It was excruciating. Dean felt a rush of despair swirling inside him, his throat tightening with anxiety, his voice strained as he begged: “Please.”

 

He shouldn’t say a word, but he _needed_ this.

 

Obediently responding to his command, Castiel slid his cock inside.

 

The relief was immediate. Dean was drenched in sweat now, his shoulders hurting from the position he was in, but _finally_ he was getting what he needed, and none of those things mattered any more. The pain didn’t matter. Freedom didn’t matter. How much he missed Sam…

 

“Please,” he whined again.

 

Castiel didn’t seem to know what he should be doing. Once he was inside he just stayed there. But Dean needed _friction_ , and he bucked his hips, rolling back, trying to encourage the Seraphim to move. It seemed to take forever for Castiel to make his mind up, or understand what was being asked of him, but then he began to move, began with little jerks of his hips and then began to thrust, slow and uncoordinated.

 

By this point, Dean would take anything he could get.

 

It felt good, too. It felt wonderful. The friction was intense. Dean knew it was always like this, he always enjoyed being fucked and thought it was the best sex he’d ever had, but there was something special about this time. Usually the Alphas he was with went right at it, but even that fierce friction was nothing to the singular sensation of every inch of Castiel’s cock against his insides, every ridge, every vein, the tug of his foreskin.

 

Yes. This _was_ the best sex he’d ever had.

 

Maybe there was something to this true mate crap after all--but why now? Why did it have to be Castiel? Why was _any_ of this happening?

 

It felt _so good_. And when Castiel picked up speed, as though responding to Dean’s unspoken need, Dean began to lose his mind.

 

“You like this?” Castiel breathed.

 

It felt like Castiel was inside his head.

 

“Yes...sir,” Dean answered, remembering his respect only at the last second.

 

“Faster?” Castiel asked.

 

Dean moaned, and answered with a twitch of his hips. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was meant to be formulaic, impassionate. The Omega’s pleasure wasn’t important.

 

Castiel responded to the request, though. He moved faster, his hands once more moving to Dean’s hips to grip him tight. It helped. As Castiel increased his pace, he found more of a rhythm, and Dean found himself sinking into the oblivion of his own pleasure, hyper aware of every thrust of Castiel’s cock inside him, and somehow, how close he was. The Seraphim’s heavy breathing and whimpered moans, the way he seemed to be trying, and failing, to keep quiet behind him, made it very clear: Castiel hadn’t done this before.

 

Instinct took over. Dean dropped his shoulder, burying his face in the blankets which smelled so strongly of the Alpha, and reached between his own thighs, curling his hand around his own cock. He worked as quickly as he could at the awkward angle, his thighs aching as he fucked his own fist, uncaring that this wasn’t the way this usually worked, or that - in the back of his mind - he knew that he was supposed to be fighting this.

 

He needed to come because it was _the best sex he’d ever had_. This. This, right now, against everything he’d ever wanted from life, and with a _virgin_ Alpha who didn’t know what he was doing, and with a stranger - the Alpha’s _wife_ \- watching him from the other side of the room, was somehow the best sex he’d ever had. He needed to come. There was something humiliating about the idea of the best sex he’d ever had ending without actually reaching orgasm. But Castiel had no idea what to do with himself, and he wasn't going to slow down, not when _his_ ejaculation was the goal here. That meant it was up to Dean.

 

Castiel’s hands fumbled against his skin, though. His hands slipped, and his thrusts became less coordinated, and Dean could feel his cockhead swelling larger in the moments just before he came.

 

He was too late. It felt like he was _miles_ away from orgasm, and yet suddenly Castiel was filling him. Dean felt every twitch, every pulse of come, felt Castiel’s cock snag and catch inside him, his own treacherous muscles clamping down in response. Whimpering, Dean pulled his hand away from himself and grabbed for the blankets instead, pushing his shoulders back up, lifting his head so that he could suck in a deep breath. It wasn’t painful, not really, but the sudden pressure inside him was enough to make him cry out, digging his fingers and toes into the bedsheets and trying to resist the way his body instinctively tried to get away from the pressure, his hips jerking and only making the sensation worse.

 

Castiel threw his weight forward, the way some Alphas were prone to when they sensed their mate trying to wrench away, and suddenly Dean was face first in the bed again, unable to move, unable to resist, as Castiel’s cock kept twitching inside him, still emptying seed. It took whole minutes for it to stop, Dean sucking in desperate, strained breaths the entire time. If anything, Castiel kept coming longer than any Alpha that Dean had ever been with, and then he lay there on top of him, panting and trembling, knotted deep and tight. The pressure was unbearable and Dean’s own useless erection was trapped helplessly beneath him in the process.

 

It wasn’t mating, Dean told himself. If it was mating, like in the real world, the way Alphas and Omegas consumated their bond even if they weren’t true mates, then Castiel would bite him, sink his teeth into his throat and leave a forever mark.

 

But this wasn’t like the real world any more, was it? This was a fucked up version of reality where all he was good for was as a womb on legs, and presumably they’d keep him breeding until he was all dried up, then send him out into the field to dig up potatoes or something.

 

He would never have a mate. He would never raise his own kids. He’d never see Sam again.

 

Dean tried to move, but the knot was still too tight. Maybe it was because he was a virgin, Dean thought, or it was the same crap from before. Such bullshit. True mates? He clearly just wanted it. He was so desperate to be fucked that his heat was driving him crazy, that was all it was. Stupid. He was so _stupid_ to think it was anything else. He’d known Benny a few days, why had he been so quick to believe his story, so quick to believe the despair that went with it?

 

See? Now they were done, he didn’t even feel that strongly about it any more. He could sense more of the room than just his part of it, could hear Hannah pacing the floorboards somewhere behind him, occasionally muttering to herself in a language he didn’t know. He could feel Castiel’s breath against the center of his back.

 

It felt good to be able to think clearly again, to know what an idiot he’d been. Sex starved, that was what was wrong with him. That was _all_ that was wrong with him. Without work, without _hunting_ , to take his mind off it all, he’d just built up some kind of crazy need, that was all.

 

And now it was over, and tomorrow night, when this happened all over again, he’d be able to resist flopping around like a virgin on his first heat.

 

For now, all he had to do was resist the urge boiling inside him to tell Castiel to get off him. He knew full well that until his cock softened the Alpha was going nowhere.

 

The pressure was beginning to subside, though. Moreover Castiel had managed to resist conking out and drooling on him as he snored like some of the Alphas Dean had been with--there had to be something to that.

 

At last he lifted his weight up from Dean’s back. For a moment, his cock continued to tug at Dean’s insides, but then he was sliding out, taking the pressure with him. Dean felt his body clench again, but this time it was closing on itself, shutting off his reproductive system with every last drop of Castiel’s seed tightly sealed up inside.

 

Dean gave a sigh of relief when Castiel’s spent cock popped free. He lowered his head back onto the bed, trembling, and felt a warm hand stroke across the globe of one cheek before his clothing was pulled back into place. That was okay. He knew how this worked, knew they had to wait a preordained period of time for the seed to have time to ‘settle’.

 

Hannah and Castiel began to talk in hushed tones. Dean was too tuckered out to listen, so he simply lay his head down and tried to steady his breathing, tried not to cry, tried to forget about his own ignored erection crushed awkwardly underneath him. It felt like it took forever for the half hour waiting period to pass, and throughout Dean lay on his front feeling awful, feeling used and strangely full, as well as empty at the same time.

 

It took every ounce of effort in him not to burst into tears. He feelings were swirling, and his stomach was a little too empty, and his whole body ached from the experience.

 

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again Charlie was beside the bed, gently shaking his shoulder, her eyes wide with concern and sadness.

 

“You fell asleep. They said you should stay here for as long as you slept, that every minute you spend on your belly is better...but it’s been hours. Why don’t we get you back to your room, huh?”

 

Dean hurt when he moved, and his face was throbbing from sleeping on the bruise that Zachariah had left on him, but Charlie was gentle and helped him to his feet, supporting way too much of his weight for such a small girl as Dean stumbled back to his attic bedroom.

 

The most belligerent he got was as they reached the top of the stairs, where he muttered, “True mates. Yeah right. What kind of Disney bullshit is that?”

 

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, sighing. “It sounds sort of romantic.”

 

“You should tell her,” Dean murmured, sleepily.

 

“You know I can’t,” Charlie answered.

 

All Dean could do was shrug.

 

He fell asleep the moment he was lowered back down onto his bed, and didn’t even notice when Charlie covered him with a blanket, slipping away into dreamless sleep.

 

 

 

In the middle of the night, Dean awoke suddenly, aroused and soaked in his own sweat and slick, the sheets tangled around his legs.

 

He needed Castiel.

 

He needed…

 

He rolled awkwardly off the bed, landing on his hands and knees, pain lancing through his hands from the raw abrasions on his palms.

 

“What the hell is happening to me?”

 

The longing rose in him again, a pull that tugged from his core, his heart fluttering. Dean dragged himself up to his feet, kicking his way to freedom from the blankets, and stumbled over to the door. He was shaking when he wrapped his hand around the handle, but when he pushed the door refused to budge. Of course. He was locked in again.

 

Locked in just like the previous night. Locked in to face the same kind of exhausting desperation. He’d clawed at the door. His own scratches were visible in the paint, and he ran his fingers against them, then pushed his forehead against the marks as well, rocked back and forth so he could feel the texture, then dragged himself pointedly away.

 

Why was this happening? Why did he feel this way about Castiel? The bastard was trying to get him pregnant, for God’s sake. Dean’s door was locked, he was a _prisoner_ in this house, a fucking _sex slave_ , but his body was aching for the Alpha’s touch. It seemed unfair. It seemed like some deity out there fucking _hated_ him.

 

Hid body was aching. It wasn’t the pain in his shoulders from earlier. This ache was an ache of need, not pain. He needed Castiel. He needed to be fucked, needed a knot inside him, needed to _actually come_. His own cock was rigid against his belly, but the idea of touching himself was sad and humiliating.

 

He wanted Castiel. Dean whined, twisted his body and dragged himself back up onto his bed, pushing all the blankets away in frustration. He fell back onto the mattress, trembling all over, wringing his fingers helplessly in the sheets.

 

He felt like shit. He felt like someone coming down from hard drugs or long term alcoholism. DTs. Was that what was happening to him? When had he become a junkie for cock? It wasn’t even like Castiel had left a forever mark on him.

 

The Alpha was nothing to him. He was his gaoler, his abuser. Dean hated him.

 

Okay, that didn’t sound true even in his head.

 

It was ridiculous. Castiel was married. He wasn’t even Dean’s Alpha, he’d just fucked him because he had to, because he was as much a victim of this stupid situation as Dean was, right?

 

Cool, and now he was making excuses for him. As if he wasn’t screwed up enough needing Castiel in the first place.

 

Fuck. He could deal with this himself. Maybe it was just some sort of residual holdover from the fact that he hadn’t come on Castiel’s knot. He was just horny, right? So maybe all he needed to do was clean the pipes?

 

It was worth a try.

 

Rolling onto his back, Dean stared up at the dark ceiling. He could do this. First, he stripped himself all the way out of his robes. They still stank of sex, and Dean considered throwing them as far away as possible before changing his mind, rolling them up and then burying his nose in them.

 

It did the trick. Just as expected, the scent of Castiel went straight to his cock, and Dean felt his need swell. Yes. Yes, okay, he could do this. He let his mind wander, let it conjure up the image of Castiel, the feel of his fingers running down the inside of his own thighs - they were Dean’s hands - and imagined Castiel questing with them, teasing at his hole, feeling it quiver and leak as he drew the pad of his thumb across the pucker.

 

Castiel was gentle, affectionate. He would understand that Dean needed to come too, this time, and take a hold of his cock, teasing at his balls with his fingertips before thrusting his fingers inside. Yes… Yes, that was better. Dean needed something to bear down on, his legs spread wide, pulling on his arousal, thumbnail tickling the glans at the apex of each tug.

 

There. This was what he needed…

 

Except it wasn’t enough. When Dean’s eyes opened, there was enough light shining through the jacaranda tree that Dean could clearly see the absence of the Alpha above him. Even though he tugged viciously on his cock, he simply couldn’t get enough sensation to push him over the edge. He found himself once more submerged beneath a wave of misery, hornier than ever now and even more desperate. Still he kept going, kept tugging on himself until it began to hurt, until his strain and his need made him want to scream.

 

Reluctantly, he took his hand away from his cock, flopping back onto the bed and staring up at the patterns made by the moonlight on the walls. His sore cock kept straining, leaking onto his belly, but Dean felt helpless now, tears streaked down his face from his frustration.

 

That was when the lock clicked.

 

Panicked, and too far away from his blankets to grab for it, Dean twisted away from the door, turning to look back over his shoulder to see who it was.

 

Castiel stood there, standing in the mottled moonlight cast upon the walls, a crack of light showing through the door from the hallway beyond. His eyes shone in the light.

 

“Jacaranda? I--oh.”

 

Dean could see the exact moment his pupils dilated. He could only imagine, despite the peppermint from earlier, how strongly his room must smell of needy Omega.

 

“I should go,” Castiel began.

 

“No, please stay,” Dean whimpered, twisting back around and sitting up, his feet tumbling off the edge of the bed. Castiel looked startled, but he didn’t run like Dean half expected him to. Maybe with his back to the moon, or his moon to the moon as it were, his sorry state of nudity wasn’t actually all that visible.

 

“I felt you,” Castiel said, softly.

 

Dean frowned. He wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. _Felt him?_

 

“I don’t understand it either,” the Alpha continued. “Do you… I’ve never done this before. I didn’t know it was supposed to feel like this. But you…”

 

“What?” Dean asked.

 

“But you’re in so much pain. I can feel it,” Castiel finished, bleakly. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

 

Dean frowned. He couldn’t help the feeling that Castiel was playing him somehow, but in the stark light from the moon there was no concealing his expression, or hiding the concern that was obvious there. Castiel looked rattled, his hair stuck up awkwardly.

 

“Come over here,” Dean instructed, with a sigh.

 

To his surprise, Castiel actually obeyed. He made his way over to the edge of the bed and just stood there, looking at once frightened and concerned, lips ever so slightly parted.

 

Dean had to resist the urge to shake his head. Castiel wasn’t that scary. Right now he looked so lost that Dean almost felt bad for him. Dean had killed real monsters with his bare hands, been tortured in Hell and still come through it, punched an Archangel in the face--he could have broken Castiel’s neck with one arm. Of course Castiel had no idea how dangerous he was. Everyone overlooked Omegas; underestimated them. And Dean knew he didn’t look that much, that he was smaller than his Alpha brother, that he looked like a pushover.

 

That was what had made him such an effective killer.

 

But right now his cock was throbbing, and the scent of Castiel, just inches away from him, was more than he could stand. Better still, he was able to look the Seraphim right in the eyes, until it was _Castiel_ who looked away. Dean might be the one getting fucked, but he could tell that pure dominance hardly came easy to Castiel. He was conflicted in all of this.

 

Dean placed his hands on Castiel’s hips.

 

“I’m going to undress you,” he said, softly.

 

Castiel’s voice was scratchy and uncertain. “Why?”

 

Dean chuckled. “Because I want to. Because you’re _supposed_ to.”

 

Somehow that was enough, and Castiel held still as Dean pulled his belt off and unbuttoned his fly, as he pushed his pants off his hips and bent down to guide his feet out of them. All the while, Castiel’s erection stood inches away from his nose, and Dean looked at it - really looked at it - while Castiel looked down at him. Dean could feel the warmth of his gaze on the back of his neck.

 

He stood up to undo the buttons of Castiel’s shirt, to loosen his tie and pull it off. For the first time, Dean was aware of their similarity in height. Dean, in fact, was ever so slightly taller, but as he undressed him, pushing the soft cotton off the other man’s shoulders, he was able to look straight into his eyes, feeling - at last - as though he was some kind of equal. He’d forgotten what that felt like, to be equal to Alphas. Sure, there were issues. Some people believed that Omega would never be truly equal, that their biology meant that they would always be second class citizens. But what they’d had… Compared to now, it felt like freedom. That wasn’t to say it couldn’t have been better, but discovering just how much worse it could get…

 

Dean only became aware of the tears running down his cheeks when Castiel’s trembling hand brushed them away.

 

“Why are you crying?”

 

Dean shook his head. “I just forgot. I forgot what this could be like.”

 

Castiel’s eyes narrowed, but it wasn’t suspicious. It looked more like he was thinking--or at least trying hard to imagine what Dean meant.

 

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “I know you’ve never done this before. Before yesterday, I mean.”

 

“I...I didn’t know it was possible to tell. Did I do something wrong?”

 

Dean almost laughed again. Instead he bit his lip, then shook his head. “Maybe a little bit, but that’s not your fault, it’s just...it’s the way things are now, right? I get it, I do.”

 

Castiel looked troubled, but he didn’t say anything. Whether he was struggling with his failure as a mate or something else, Dean didn’t know. He was already pushing his luck so much he didn’t dare to ask. So instead he bent up, and pressed his mouth against the other man’s.

 

By his surprise, Dean had to guess that Castiel had never been kissed, either. Which was odd. Wasn’t he married? Shaking away his questions, Dean climbed back onto the bed, spreading his legs wide. The moon shone down through the blossoms of the jacaranda tree. It made his slick look silvery, and the bead of precome on the tip of his cock shone like a pearl.

 

“Aren’t you meant to face away from me?”

 

Goddamn, but he was genuinely confused! Dean spread his legs a little wider, insistent. “No. I want to look at you.”

 

Castiel climbed reluctantly onto the bed, and Dean looked up at him, licking his lips. The Alpha’s cock was leaking too, and Dean reached out for him, wrapping his fingers around the shaft and stroking up gently. For a moment Castiel froze above him, biting his own lip like he’d copied the expression from Dean.

 

“There, you see? It’s not so bad.”

 

They were both looking at Castiel’s cock. When the drip of precome had dripped as far as Dean’s thumb, he swiped up through it, then brought his hand up to his face, holding Castiel’s big, wide eyes as he licked his thumb clean.

 

The scent of the Alpha instantly became completely overwhelming, but Dean wasn’t helpless this time. He had control. He felt like he could stop this at any time, ask for almost anything…

 

“Touch me,” Dean demanded. “When we touch--”

 

“--It’s like electricity,” Castiel finished for him.

 

Dean swallowed and nodded. “Yes.”

 

Did Castiel feel the same way he did? That electricity, the need he felt--did Castiel feel it too?

 

Warm hands fell on the inside of his thighs, just as Dean’s own had when he’d been trying to masturbate before. This time, though, it was truly his Alpha touching him, and the electricity was real, jolting through his body, frying his brain and going straight to his cock. Dean was slippery with need, now, the influence of his heat almost painful. He needed Castiel inside him.

 

And when had Castiel become _his_ Alpha?

 

“You need me,” Castiel pointed out.

 

Dean exhaled a breath he’d been holding. “Yes.”

 

“I need you too.”

 

That was all he needed to hear. Castiel closed on him, reaching down to guide his cock into place, then sliding home like he belonged there. Despite his desire to keep looking at Castiel, Dean let his head fall back for a moment, revelling in the satisfaction of being filled. It was what had been missing. He’d needed this.

 

Castiel’s arm wrapped around his waist, pulling him down toward his hips, and Dean whimpered. It took real effort to pull his head back up, and Castiel was there waiting for him, his gaze intense. They rocked back together, the Alpha leaning over him as he laid Dean down on his back.

 

“Like this?”

 

Dean licked his lips, and wrapped his hand around his own cock. “Yes.”

 

They moved together beneath the jacaranda blossoms. Dean panted, trying to keep quiet so that nobody would hear them, and Castiel bit his lip and whimpered softly, fucking him so slowly that Dean thought he might break just from how sweet it was. It felt just as good as the previous time, except now they were face to face. He could look right up at Castiel, look into his eyes, see his expression pinch as orgasm caught up to him.

 

Dean was close this time, and feeling Castiel come inside him, knot expanding, was all that it took. He gave one low, soft groan and came as well, clenching down on the knot inside him, milking every ounce of seed from it. Through barely parted eyelids he stared up at the Alpha, and saw Castiel looking back down at him.

 

It was peaceful. It was _perfect_. The moonlight dancing over their bodies as the wind tousled the branches outside was almost magical, fireflies swaying over heated skin.

 

“Was that right?” Castiel asked, breathlessly. He was still coming, Dean could feel it, his cock twitching; no surprise, then, that his voice sounded so strained.

 

All Dean knew was how good it felt, how satisfied he was, how _completed_. The feeling of Castiel’s come inside him didn’t repulse him this time, and he reached out with both hands, curling them against the back of Cas’ neck, thumbs rubbing up into his hair.

 

“There’s one more thing.”

 

Yes. It was the right thing. It was what he wanted--what his body was telling him he _needed_ to make this experience complete.

 

More easily than he should have been able to, he pulled Castiel’s face down toward him, urging the Alpha to tuck his nose into Dean’s neck. He didn’t even need to ask. Instinct took over. Between the knot locking them together, cock still pulsing, and what Dean was sure must be the overwhelming scent of a contented Omega, Castiel simply obeyed nature, and closed his teeth over Dean’s pulse.

 

It was orgasmic. In the space of just a few seconds Castiel’s cock stiffened inside him and he came again, crying out against his skin and then digging his teeth in again. Dean orgasmed spontaneously too, digging his heels into Castiel’s thighs and clawing down his back with both hands. He sobbed into the open air, uncaring for the sounds he was making, twitching and bucking underneath Castiel’s body, and it seemed to go on forever, for as long as Castiel sucked on the mark on his neck, until they were both exhausted and the Alpha’s mouth sluiced against his skin, his head falling against the mattress.

 

This time, it seemed, the sex really had tuckered Castiel out. Dean didn’t mind. He was exhausted and spent as well, and even with the weight of Castiel over him, the pressure inside him, he let himself drift away to sleep.

 

 

 

Somehow, Castiel was gone when Dean opened his eyes. He’d hoped - perhaps foolishly - to find the Alpha stretched out beside him, nuzzling into his throat, humming soft words into his ear. Still, Dean was stretched out in a patch of spring sunshine. He felt relaxed, well fucked, and very much like - for once - this awful world was on his side.

 

The memories of the night before were clear and bright. Dean remembered it all, could even picture the sway of jacaranda moonlight on Castiel’s skin, the exact shade of blue of his eyes. When he placed his fingers against the wound on his neck, the image was even more vivid, and a warm pull in his belly reminded him just how perfect it had felt.

 

The best fuck he’d ever had. No… No, it was more than that, wasn’t it?

 

God, they’d _mated_. He’s mated his stupid Alpha, mated with the Seraphim that _owned_ him. It was just like Benny had said it would be. He should be terrified, but the pull to Castiel was stronger, and Dean groaned, sinking back on the bed. What had possessed him? He’d lost his damn mind!

 

And yet, thinking back on the vivid memories, Dean knew he wouldn’t have changed a single thing. The pull to Castiel had been so strong, he’d never felt anything like it. He’d never fallen asleep with an Alpha inside him, and when Castiel had bitten him…

 

He’d never, _ever_ , had an orgasm like that.

 

 _True mates_ , said his mind, in Benny’s warm taffy voice.

 

He stared up at the ceiling. Was that it? Was that _really_ it? It just seemed so...so stupid. So _childish_. Make believe. True mates wasn’t real, it was something they put in Disney movies to make little Omega kids feel like their lives weren’t going to suck.

 

Dean shuddered, and closed his eyes, and saw Castiel clearly against his mind’s eye. And there was that tug again, that need. Castiel, his mate. His true mate. Dean could accept that. What could be so wrong with that, especially if it got him a free ride for a while?

 

Everything, insisted his logical mind. He wouldn’t even be in this mess if he’d managed to escape across the border. It was fucked up, and as harmless as Cas had seemed, as innocent in all of this, he was still a Seraphim. A monster. He had power in this whole fucked up system just because he’d been born an Alpha.

 

And Dean was laying here like an idiot, come and slick dried on his thighs, rubbing at the fresh wound on his neck where he’d been _claimed_ like this was the end of some goddamn Hallmark romance. He felt stupid, and yet he couldn’t fight it now, his hormones betraying him with the swell of affection he felt for Cas just from touching the wound on his neck.

 

Somehow Dean had expected things to be different when he head back downstairs. He didn’t bother to bathe, too worn out to even try climbing over the edge of the bathtub. He ate, then fell asleep at the kitchen table, and Charlie nudged him gently awake not long after.

 

“You should go back to bed, Dean. You look awful.”

 

“Gee, thanks.”

 

“The mistress would rather you stayed in bed, too, I’m sure. Better chances.”

 

Dean was pretty miserable about the idea, honestly. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in his room with the scent of Cas, trapped where there was no escape with only the memory of what he’d done, and the odd feeling of absence that weighed on his shoulders.

 

“Besides, you smell pretty bad,” Dorothy said, from the doorway. “You can’t subject other people to that sort of thing, you know.”

 

“He smells bad?” Charlie asked innocently. “I didn’t notice.”

 

“Trust an Alpha,” Dorothy said, stepping up toward Charlie at the sink, and placing a hand on her shoulder that lingered just a little too long. “He smells like a stagnant puddle. Like wet dog. Like garbage water. It’s _disgusting._ ”

 

“Fine!” Dean snapped, bitterly. “I get the picture. I’ll go to my room.”

 

Dean didn’t put too much energy into it, and he stopped at the doorway, looking back to Charlie and Dorothy who were staring right into each other’s eyes with just a few centimeters between their faces.

 

“Hey,” he said. “You...you don’t happen to know where Castiel went, do you?”

 

“No,” Dorothy answered, reluctantly glancing his way. “He took Samandriel and just left. But he likes to take off. Anything to get away from his duties.”

 

Dean hesitated. “Is that why… The other Omega that were here? He didn’t sleep with any of them?”

 

“One never went into heat, and he avoided the other one,” Charlie filled in. “She got the blame for it, of course. You don’t call a Seraphim Alpha frigid.”

 

“Where is she now?”

 

“With Gadreel at the end of the street. And pregnant.”

 

Dean nodded at his own feet. “Thanks,” he said, eventually, before heading back up to his room, wondering about Cas again, wondering about what kind of man he was.

 

 

 

Dean waited, but Castiel didn’t come back.

 

Outside the last Jacaranda blossom fell, and the tree brightened to vibrant green as the leaves unfurled. For the first two days Charlie brought meals to his room, but then Dean was expected to head downstairs and sit in the kitchen. Hannah stood in the corner of the room during every meal, scowling at him suspiciously while he ate, his head down and his collar up to hide the mark on his throat.

 

But Castiel didn’t come back.

 

The longing for Cas Dean had expected to wear off, but unexpectedly it began to grow instead. The healing wound at his throat was itchier by the day, and Dean’s dreams were complex with apparitions of Castiel. A pull in his gut insisted that the absence was awful, but it wasn’t until it was actually _painful_ that Dean began to take notice, until he couldn’t think or eat or sleep without thinking of Cas. Dean missed him, and worse, he desperately pined for him, worse hour by hour and worse still day by day.

 

Dean busied himself in the small garden, moving among the flowers and sitting for hours, watching the bees collecting nectar and studying their flights back to Castiel’s hives. There was nothing else to do, and nothing he was trusted to do. The smell of honey reminded him of Cas, though, and it only made Dean miss him more. Furthermore, Cain would chase him out of the garden whenever he caught him going too close to the apiary.

 

By the eleventh day, Dean couldn’t eat. Hannah sent for a doctor, and Dean was put to bed, much to his frustration. What he really wanted to do was leave, follow the pull in his gut and find Castiel, but five minutes into his examination the doctor flipped his whole world upside down.

 

“Congratulations,” he said, addressing Hannah. “Your Omega is pregnant!”

 

Dean bristled. He wasn’t Hannah’s omega, he was Castiel’s. What right did she have to be a part of this moment? _He_ was the pregnant one, and yet the doctor didn’t even glance his way, sharing big smiles with Hannah.

 

Maybe that was what the increasing feeling of longing was, Dean wondered. Mated Omega always desired the protection of their Alphas. It was as natural as presentation, as sex itself. Castiel should be here, Dean told himself fiercely. Castiel should be protecting his offspring, his mate; that was the way this worked, the way this whole damn society was meant to function.

 

Except...wasn’t that an old fashioned dynamic that Dean would usually resist against? Weren’t there plenty of single parent Omega, before this whole thing went to hell? No, he didn’t need Castiel, he was plenty strong enough to raise a child himself. Hadn’t he raised Sam, after all, almost entirely by himself? Not that he supposed it mattered. A few months after giving birth, they’d take his child away from him forever, and move Dean on to another Seraphim, and the whole thing would happen all over again.

 

 _But_ _where was he?_

 

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Hannah said, and there was a sharp edge to her voice as the doctor loomed over him, finding a vein so that Dean could be given fluids. “No more ceremonies. Castiel won’t have to filthy himself with you - with any of you - ever again.”

 

Dean held her gaze defiantly. There was nothing she could do about it now, not with the doctor present, and certainly not after. He was carrying new life within him, which made him untouchable. Protected. Sacred.

 

Lifting his chin, Dean turned to look at the doctor. “Surely I don’t have to stay in bed permanently?”

 

“So long as you eat, you can take light exercise. Nothing too strenuous.”

 

Dean scoffed. He could remember his own mother, deep into her second trimester, tossing him into the air and catching him, taking him on long walks in the park. Light exercise. As if.

 

 

 

But Dean could barely eat, which meant no more trips into the garden. Instead he sat at his window, staring down at the hives through the leaves of the jacaranda tree, growing ever more desperate for Castiel to come home.

 

Then, just as the walls had begun to feel like a prison, as the ache in him turned to a deep and abiding misery, a black SUV made its way up the long driveway to the house, and Dean knew that Castiel was inside. It was impossible instinct, supernatural instinct, but Dean _knew_ , and he was up out of bed so quickly that halfway down the stairs he had a dizzy spell, and almost fell the rest of the way.

 

But nothing would keep him from Castiel, not even rules.

 

Who cared about rules, after all? Not Dean.

 

He stopped dead at the kitchen door, however, his urge to reunite with Castiel forgotten, because there, right in the very center of the kitchen…

 

Was Sam.

 

Dean didn’t know how long he stood there staring at Sam—how long Sam stood and stared at him. The moment seemed to spiral outward with the ever increasing, ever repeating pattern of a fractal. His heartbeats felt like they were further apart, his breathing stuttered.

It couldn’t be Sam. Sam wasn’t supposed to be here. Sam had gotten to the border, had escaped—he was free. Surely…surely he was free? Dean had always believed it, and believing that Sam was free was the only thing that had buoyed him up, that had made this life survivable.

Still, Sam looked good. He was lean and fit, his eyes sharp, his face weatherbeaten like he’d spent a lot of time out in the elements. His clothes were clean but worn, and there was a gun at his belt. He looked like a fighter, like Dean remembered him looking only somehow…somehow stronger. Older. Maybe that was how you looked when you had to gain independence all of a sudden?

Sam was the one who broke the silence, who stepped forward boldly and wrapped Dean in his arms. All protocol was forgotten, all control fractured, and Dean threw his arms around his brother and held tight, sobbed right into his neck and said “Sam, oh my God. My God, Sam. Is it really you?”

Sam answered. Sam told him he was real, told him it was alright, and Dean rubbed his face against Sam’s bristled face and breathed in his scent, that lived in familiar scent that had been his entire life before all of this.

But how…how was Sam here? Dean held on even as Sam tried to pry him back to explain.

“How?” Dean pleaded over him, breathlessly. “How?”

“Sam has been working for the Resistance since you last saw him,” Castiel said. His voice cut through Dean’s frenzied emotion like a hot knife through butter. It also struck fresh fear into Dean. If Sam was working for the Resistance, then why was he here? Had Castiel captured him? Had he brought him here only so that Dean would let him go again? Lose him again?

“N-no…” Dean started, panic seizing him. “No. Please, not my brother…”

“Dean, Cas saved my life. He helped me get out when Gilead attacked the Resistance.”

Dean looked over to Castiel, confused, then back to Sam. “What? Then why—why are you here, Sam? You shouldn’t be here. If they find you they’re gonna kill you!”

“He brought me here so we can stop this, Dean. So we can…take this place down, together. I don’t know how, but he knows about us. He knows what we do.”

If anything, Dean was even more lost. How did Cas know? He hadn’t said a word. Was it a mating thing? Was it…? What was going on?

“What do you mean?” he asked, bleakly.

“Hunters. He knows we’re hunters. That we do this kind of thing all the time.”

“What… What _kind of thing,_ Sam?”

Dean was, if anything, even more confused. What kind of thing? They fought monsters; they didn’t fight for the Resistance or battle corrupt governments.

“Angels, Dean. They’re angels. Like wings and God and Heaven and stuff. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

Dean suddenly felt incredibly weak, faint, and Cas was suddenly there, wrapping an arm around his waist and gently guiding him into a chair.

“Are you okay, Dean? You don’t look well.”

Dean stared up at Cas like he’d never seen him before. Angels? They were _angels_? So they’d been wrong, this was a case. This had always been a case, and the world had been taken over by frigging angels and he’d been… Oh, God. He was carrying a goddamn half angel _baby_.

“Angels aren’t real,” Dean said, weakly. “Dad always said… We never saw anything that said angels could be real.”

“We are real,” Castiel insisted, softly. “Dean, have you been eating properly?”

“I… No, I couldn’t. You were gone.”

Cas’ jaw twitched, and he reached to stroke Dean’s neck, his fingers drifting over the mating bond, the fresh scar pink on his neck. “You have to eat something. You have to take care of yourself. There may be hard times ahead, Dean. A difficult fight. You will have to be ready.”

“I’m pregnant,” Dean exclaimed. “How the hell am I gonna be able to fight fucking _angels_ if I’m pregnant?”

Cas’ hand fell still against his throat. He stared at Dean and Dean stared back, sudden realization striking. Cas didn’t know. Cas hadn’t known.

It was Sam who spoke first.

“Dean… God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. _Hey_. Get away from him.”

Sam shouldered between Dean and Cas, shoving the Seraphim back, and Castiel, shocked, let him. Then anger flared, and Castiel’s eyes flashed bright blue, as though with a kind of cold fire.

Dean and Sam both stared at him until it went away.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said. “I don’t… I don’t know what came over me. And Dean, I…”

“You did what you had to do,” Dean said. “You did your job. They’d have killed both of us, I get that. But you saved my brother. You saved Sam. And I don’t know, Castiel. Something happened to me. To us.”

“The loss of control,” Cas agreed. “What was that?”

“Benny says it was…he says we’re true mates. Like soulmates or something.”

Sam scoffed loudly enough that Dean shot a glare at him.

“Oh come on, Dean,” Sam chastised, beautifully echoing the thoughts that Dean himself had so recently had. “Those movies are stupid. True mates aren’t real That’s something they tell Omega so the world doesn’t seem so gross and oppressive.”

“This was different, Sam. You think I want to get all wet for some weirdo stranger? But I did. I feel like I lost my mind.”

“I was warned that the heat would be intoxicating in this form…” Cas began, but he fell silent when Sam glared at him.

“It’s normal,” Sam said. “You go into heat and sleep with strangers all the time.”

Dean scowled at his brother. “Nothing about any of this is normal, Sam. You think I want to get held down and boned by Clarence? No offence.”

“But Castiel... Cas?…” Dean looked across at him, frowning. “I _wanted_ Cas. I needed him. I felt sick when he was gone, and this baby… This is his baby, Sam, and I want Cas to…I need Castiel to protect it. I don’t know why. I just need him. And it’s crazy, I know it’s crazy, but it’s what I want.”

Sam stared at him, baffled, as Dean took Castiel’s hand and pulled him closer, guided his fingers onto his belly.

“You’re seriously an angel?” Dean asked, his voice dropping a little lower. “An angel? With wings?”

“An angel with wings,” Castiel agreed.

“Then why?” Dean asked, softly. “Why are you doing this to us?”

“Heaven is at war, Dean. With Hell; with Lucifer. The solution to our falling numbers, the only one available to us, was to create Nephilim.”

“It’s not okay,” Dean said, fiercely. “This…this whole thing? It’s _not okay_. You get that, right?”

“I get that,” Castiel agreed. His thumb circled on Dean’s stomach, and they met each other’s eyes. “That’s why I saved your brother. Why I brought him here. It’s why I’m ready and willing to fight beside you against my own brothers and sisters--to undo the wrongs that we have served against mankind.”

“It’s a start,” Dean said.

“I would have resisted, Dean,” Cas said, earnestly. “The first night, when you seemed so ill, it was an opportunity for a reprieve. It was a struggle to stay away from you. But I would have sent you away like the Omega I had before you. If I’d still had access to the drugs to prevent you from going into heat… But I didn’t have time to procure any, and then you were…”

“You would have risked your life for me,” Dean said, eventually. “You did risk your life for me. And Cas I… the rut may have fucked me up, but I still wanted you. But it’s not okay. This true mates stuff—it may mess with my hormones, but I’m not gonna let it decide whether I like you or not. You get that? You keep going like this. You earn my respect, or I swear, even if I have to go through the worst detox in history, I _will_ quit you. You better believe it.”

“I believe you,” Castiel agreed, softly. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. I believe you.”

“You did a good thing,” Dean added, gently, closing his free hand over the back of Castiel’s. “You saved Sam. It’s a great start—the best.”

Sam stepped forward, but this time he didn’t push himself into the space between Dean and Castiel. He stood over them both, laying his hand gently on Dean’s shoulder.

“Anyone who saves me gets into my good books too,” Sam agreed, though he gave Dean’s shoulder a little squeeze at the same time. “So if my brother wants to give you a chance, I guess we’ll give you a chance.”

Sam still seemed hesitant, but Dean finally felt like he was on level ground. Castiel’s presence was somehow soothing, and his brother was here. His brother was alive.

Dean wrung Castiel’s hand in between his own. “So how are we going to do this?”

“We have a few ideas,” Castiel hummed, looking up at Sam. “It starts with taking down the Archangel Michael, something which I expect to be no easy task…”

“I’m in,” Dean grinned.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I hope this ending feels like an optimistic sort of ending! It's really hard to judge after all that angst. Thanks so much for reading, and please comment and let me know what you thought! This is my first even vaguely long A/B/O fic, but if you liked it check out my A/B/O Kinkmeme which is posting as often as I can get to it and is looking to be SUPER long by the time it's done, so subscribe now to enjoy it in more manageable chunks!


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